If You Cant Stand the Heat
by luvscharlie
Summary: Hermione worries that her marriage has grown too routine. Ron/Hermione


_If You Can't Stand the Heat… _by Luvscharlie

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Warnings: Wall!sex, Oral!sex

_A/N: Originally written for the 2009 Kinky Kristmas Exchange at Daily Deviant on Insane Journal where the recipient requested the prompt of ice and wall!sex._

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The Sunday before Christmas Eve was shaping up to be an eventful one in the Granger-Weasley household. Their children were-well, different might be the best way to put it. Rose was much like Hermione. She made good grades, studied hard, and rarely found herself in trouble. Then there was Hugo. In Hugo, Fred Weasley lived on to prank another day. Sure, there were bits of she and Ron thrown into the mix, but Hugo was gregarious, a troublemaker, and not one tiny bit afraid to use magic outside of school. Today, they were all suffering for it. Hugo had cast a Warming Charm that had sent the temperature indoors soaring.

It was beautiful outside. There was snow for miles around… except their house. The charm was so strong that the heat radiated outward and melted any snow within five feet of their house all the way around. Hermione felt certain the neighbours were talking.

"Ugh, it's a bloody oven in here. I'm going to kill Hugo one of these days," Ron said, as he entered the kitchen, head down. "This is all his fault, the little cretin. Where is he anyway?"

Hermione grinned to herself and waited for her husband to take notice of her and react; his response should be a pleasant one. She'd been planning this for a while… not quite all of it, mind. Hugo had certainly helped things along unwittingly… which made her grin inward, but it had earned him a nice stay in the land of grounded children for a while… though she'd given him some leeway tonight… to get him out of the house. "Rose and Hugo are at the Burrow. Your Mother Floo'd earlier and invited them over. She thought we might have some last minute shopping to do." Okay, so that was a little fib. She'd begged Molly to take the kids off her hands for a while. She needed some alone time with her husband.

"That was nice of her. We don't though, right? Have shopping, I mean. Cause you promised last week that we were done shopping." Ron rambled on. "For Merlin's sake there's snow outside, and it's like an oven in here. What kind of Warming Charm did he try to cast?" Ron was focusing all his attention on buttoning his shirt, still not looking Hermione's way.

"Apparently, a very effective one." Hermione worked her lip between her teeth. Ron still had not bothered to look up. He had moved from the buttons on his shirt to attempting to knot his tie and ruining her surprise. She craved even an ounce of the attention his blasted clothes were getting.

"And what was Shacklebolt thinking—I reckon he wasn't thinking at all—when we went and put my brother in charge of the Department for the Control of Underage Sorcery? I mean, don't get me wrong, I like Kingsley and all, and most of the time he makes good decisions, but this one—I mean giving Percy that kind of power is never smart." Ron turned and left the room, turned to the left and walked into the loo, never looking Hermione's direction and never ceasing his prattle.

This was the problem with their marriage, Hermione feared. They had simply become too adapted to the fact that they were always together. They had become that dreaded word: comfortable. The spice and spontaneity had gone out of their relationship. They were what they had sworn to never become. An old, boring married couple… and she was determined to stop this before it went any farther. She had invested far too much time in Ron Weasley and she loved him beyond reason. She had no intention of letting this relationship go south.

Ron was still yammering on from the other room. "Sodding Percy. This is the most ridiculous law that has ever been put into effect… you know, not counting all that stuff when the Death Eaters had control, but that was years ago, so it doesn't count. I mean, it's completely ridiculous that because one of our kids goes and breaks the Underage Sorcery Law that the whole family has to relinquish their wands for a week. I mean, I'm an Auror. I can't go into work without my wand. And you have things that you need to do at the office too. How are you supposed to do any of that stuff without your wand? Not to mention, how freaking embarrassing this is. Why is it always one of our kids getting into trouble? Why can't Lucy or Molly go and break some rules for a change? That might make Percy reconsider his ridiculous law. It would at least give me a chance to talk about his kids for once. No one should have such perfect children, Hermione. It's unnatural."

"I'm sure Kingsley will give you back your wand, if you just explain the circumstances to him when you go in to the office on Monday. He would never send any of his Aurors out on a dangerous mission without means to defend themselves." Hermione said all of this with saccharine sweetness. Getting grumpy wasn't in her plan, but Ron was testing the boundaries of her patience.

"Maybe I should go on in to the office and talk to the Minister today. I could catch up on some paperwork, and if I got my wand back we could do something about this Warming Charm before we all bake like Christmas hams. Percy could have at least removed the damn charm before he took our wands, don't you think? You know, Hermione, I think Hugo's got your brains. There's no way I could have cast a charm like this when I was only eleven. I mean, look how long it's lasting? Hell, I hate to admit it, but I'm not sure I could cast a charm like this now. Mine always seem to wear off. Why do you think that is?"

This was unbelievable. She could hear Ron moving around, turning on and off the tap, as he prattled on. He was going to stay in the bathroom all day if this kept up, or even worse, go and ruin all her planning by heading off to work to do _paperwork_ of all things. Hermione simply wasn't having it. She was standing in the kitchen baking biscuits in her slinkiest, laciest red knickers and a cute little bra to match, and the bloody boob hadn't even paid her enough attention to notice. Well, she'd just make him take notice of her. She was a take charge kind of woman, and it was time to take control of this situation.

She put on her sweetest voice. No reason to go and completely lose her temper… yet. "Ron, could you come help me get something out of the oven? My tray is stuck."

"Sure fing. Comin'." Ron's words were muffled, and she realised why when he came around the corner with his toothbrush tucked in his jaw. He stopped short, and his mouth fell open. The toothbrush clattered to the floor and a bit of unflattering foam gathered in the corner of his lips as his eyes went wide. "Her—Her—Hermione, did you know you're baking biscuits in your underwear?"

This wasn't going as planned at all… but at least she had his full attention now.

Ron continued on. "Um, only your knickers, I mean. Well, and your girlie boobie cover thing which is called… well, I can't think what it's called cause you're _only_ wearing _it_ and those lacy knickers which I don't think I've ever seen before and—but—Reckon I should hush now, cause you're not looking too happy with me."

"Glad to see you were observant enough to notice that, at least." Hermione flung herself down in a chair, propped her elbows on the kitchen table and put her head in hands. "What's happened to us, Ron? We've become old, boring, married people."

She heard Ron's footsteps as he crossed the room, felt the warmth of his hands on her shoulders. "Speak for yourself. You may be an old dullard, but I'm a dashingly handsome Auror. And you know in terms of excitement, we Aurors corner the market." He poked her in the side with a finger teasingly.

"You're a terrible person, Ron Weasley. Picking on a poor old lady when she's down. And if you're so exciting, why don't I ever see that side of you anymore?" For once in a very long while the house was free of anyone but them, and they were _talking_. That never happened when they were younger; they would have been having sex on every available surface. There were no footsteps stomping down the stairwell, no cries of 'Mum, he's in my room again', nothing but sweet, blissful quiet.

Ron stood behind her and his lips ghosted over her shoulder, his finger flipping the strap on the back of her bra. "Reckon you're right about that. Course my being terrible shouldn't be much of a surprise to you. There's times I think you even enjoy it. Do you plan to tell me what brought all of this about?"

"I don't want us to be old and boring." Hermione turned in her seat to look up at him. "I don't want you to get tired of me. That happens, you know. Just last week someone told me that Roger Davies and his wife are getting a divorce. Do you know how long they've been married?"

"Well, n—"

"Do you know how long?" Hermione stood, her nose inches from his, her hands splayed out in questioning fashion.

"I'm not really supposed to answer, am I?"

"They've been together almost seventeen years. Seventeen years and three children later, and one day Roger just walks in and says 'I've found someone else'—_someone ten years younger than poor Helena, mind you_—'I don't love you anymore. This is boring, so routine'—_what's wrong with routines anyway?_ 'I need adventure. I need spontaneity in my life. I need—'"

Ron held up a hand. "Hermione, stop."

"No, Ron. I won't stop. I'm not as young as I once was. There are stretch marks covering my stomach; things hang a bit lower than they once did. And did you know I found a grey hair last week? And it was not on my head! This whole thing is just mortifying! I don't want to be divorced, Ron. I don't want to be another Helena Davies."

Ron pulled her to him. "First, of all calm down. We're not getting a divorce… ever. I can't believe you'd even think such a thing as that. Did you arrange this whole thing? Get Hugo to cast this crazy charm? It wasn't necessary, you know, you didn't have to roast me alive to get my attention." He brushed a hand across his sweaty brow wiping back his fringe.

Hermione half-chuckled, half-cried. "No, Hugo did that part all on his own. I just used it to my advantage. And I didn't think we were getting divorced tomorrow, but you know that could happen to us too if we don't do something to keep things exciting. I don't want you to grow tired of me. I felt the need to circumvent certain disaster."

"Tired of you? Who ever said I was tired of you, Hermione?" Ron tilted her chin up to him and grinned. "Of course, I've heard Lavender Brown is doing some topless dancing down at the Witches' Tit. So if I took a notion to—"

_Oomph_

Hermione struck his chest with her palm and curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. "Baiting me like that isn't helping anything, you big dope."

"You're probably right about that. It did break the tension a little though." Patting her back consolingly, Ron leaned down and kissed the top of her curls.

"Maybe. A little. And, you know, I'm not the only one getting old. You're getting old too."

"The hell? I'll have you know, I am not. Don't go dragging me down with you. Could an old man do this?"

Ron twirled her around and pressed her back against the wall. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, and his hands grasped her waist, slightly thickened from the birth of two children and too much time spent with her nose in a book. Metabolism had treated her kindly until the last few years, when she'd had to fight that never ending struggle to keep those excess ten pounds at bay. Whoever invented that dreaded middle-aged spread could kiss her arse! Ron's lips ravished hers, tongue exploring a mouth that it knew as well as it knew its own, yet somehow the feeling of butterflies that he evoked in her stomach felt new again… perhaps revived.

Their lips parted, both breathing hard as they broke apart. "Now who are you calling old?" Ron's eyes were heavy-lidded with lust, his half-hard erection pressing into her thigh.

When he looked at her like that, it was almost easy to forget the years they'd spent together. To remember what it was like to be all brand new to one another once more; the excitement, the tingles of electricity at every touch of a hand or kiss of the lips. Yet, with those years also came a familiarity that brought with it a level of comfort that newfound lovers didn't have; the knowledge that only Ron knew where to touch her, kiss her, the places that made her come undone. And that had taken years of loving her to discover… to perfect. Perhaps growing older, together, had its advantages, if she'd only opened her eyes enough to see them, to realise that with the bad parts of growing older, came the good parts of doing it together.

Hermione smiled at him. The news about Roger Davies' divorce had terrified her. She couldn't imagine a life without Ron in it. And maybe it was that thought that had driven her to such extreme desperation. Her fingers ran over his chest, still firm from the constant training he did as an Auror. Hermione tugged at his tie, but it tightened rather than coming loose.

"Okay," Ron gasped, pushing her hands away. "I'm sorry I've been preoccupied lately. You've made your point. You don't need to choke me." He worked his tie loose and pulled it over his head, still knotted.

She popped open the top button of his shirt easily, but her hands were shaky with want.

"I'd vanish these clothes away for you," Ron said. "But thanks to my prat of a brother, I can't. 'Course, I'm not going to have that problem seeing as how you have so few things to remove." He ran a finger beneath the slim strap of her bra.

"I'm not in a rush," she replied, flicking open the next button, leaning in to lick and suckle the base of his throat. She felt the rise and fall of his Adam's apple beneath her lips as he swallowed hard. "Mmmmm," she said against his throat, and his breath came out in a rush.

"You keep that up, and _I_ might be in a rush." The vibrations of his words hummed against her lips. Hermione's hands worked their way slowly down his chest, flicking open one button at a time, rolling them between her fingers as she parted the soft fabric then moved on to the next button.

Ever the impatient one, Ron allowed her to get to the fifth button down before batting away her hand and making short work of the rest of them, sliding his shirt back over his shoulders and tossing it to the floor, then kicking it aside. "You take too long."

"Why do you put up with me, Ron? I guess I go a little crazy sometimes, don't I?"

Ron was breathing hard. "It's part of your charm."

The combined heat of their bodies and Hugo's Warming Charm took hold fast, and Hermione's hands grew slick as sweat coated Ron's shoulders and back. Her hair, never a fan of humidity, tangled and frizzed, and when Ron tried to run his fingers through it, the strands twisted and knotted around his fingers like a tentacula, refusing to release him. He pulled to free himself and she squealed.

"Sorry about that."

Ron wasted no time. He kissed her again, all teeth, lips and tongue, and all thoughts of her hair were gone. She spared one final thought that if he had to pull some of it out, she hoped he'd at least managed to get a grey one (she was sure those things multiplied like rabbits). His fingers slipped under the bright red bra straps, sliding them down her shoulders. His hand reached around her, pulling her away from the wall just enough to flick the clasp of her bra so that it fell away from her body, freeing her breasts. He'd certainly gotten better at that over the years. If she thought back far enough, she could still remember how long it had taken him those first few times. He'd sworn she'd put some sort of charm on it so that it would not unfasten to make him look foolish. He'd simply had a bit of learning to do.

He bent his head and took her nipple between his lips. He'd learned just fine over the years how best to please her. Her pulse sped up as his tongue teased her nipple, lips suckling with just the right amount of pressure as her knees went weak. She backed against the wall more firmly for balance, not trusting her legs to hold her up if Ron continued this much longer. The scratch of his unshaved face (she guessed he hadn't had time for that before she called him out to assist her) against the sensitive skin of her breasts felt amazing. The rough stubble such a sharp contrast to the smooth flesh.

"I'll show you old," Ron said with a snort as he straightened.

She was almost glad that he'd released her nipple. Almost. She might not go so weak in the knees without his continued ministrations, but there was a feeling of loss when he released her. Ron's hand slid down her stomach and hooked on the waistband of her knickers. He seemed not to mind those extra ten pounds that refused to leave her hips, which sort of made her love him all the more. He tugged them down her thighs, past her calves, his fingers teasing at the backs of her knees where she was ticklish as he squatted before her. The knickers pooled around her ankles and she stepped out of them and kicked them away.

"Touch me. I want your hands on me, Ron."

"I don't think I could keep my hands off of you, even if I wanted to, Hermione."

Ron's lip curled up at the corner when he looked up at her. His hands were firm as they kneaded her thighs, his freckled fingers rough against the skin. He raised her leg and tucked it over his shoulder and his grin was devious when he tipped his head and flicked his tongue lightly over her sex. She sought purchase on the wall but found nothing to grab to.

"I won't let you fall. Relax."

And he never had let her fall. Not in all the years they had been together. They had stood the test of time. Sometimes she needed to remind herself of that. Today, he was serving to remind her quite well.

Relaxing wasn't particularly easy when Ron's lips brushed the inside of her thigh, his breath teasing against her and shooting a jolt of desire through her body. "If you keep that up, I think I might just melt right away… and not from the heat of that charm. I'll melt into a big puddle of goo right before your eyes."

"That would be a real shame since I'm not done with you. Can't have you go melting away… not yet." Ron snapped his fingers and an ice cube appeared in his hand. "Maybe I should cool you off."

Hermione felt her mouth fall open and quickly shut it. "How'd you do that without your wand?"

"Auror trick. I've been dying to show that off for weeks now. Didn't think I'd get such a good opportunity though." The ice cube began melting almost immediately upon its appearance; it was no match for Hugo's Warming Charm. It wasn't a very large cube of ice, so maybe Ron wasn't all that great at the trick. She thought it might be best not to voice that opinion. Ron plopped it into his mouth and began to suck on it. He grinned up at her and stuck out his tongue where the now tiny sliver of ice was perched. "Are you ready?"

"That depends. What exactly are you planning?" Hermione asked warily.

"Well, Miss Looking for a Bit of Spontaneity, I guess you'll just have to wait and see." His fingers grasped the insides of her thighs, nudging them apart. His warm finger entered her at the same time his cold tongue connected with her clit sending her senses into overload.

"Merlin," she said, clutching his hair, pressing him forward-craving more and wanting to pull back all at the same time. "Oh, Ron!"

"Er-my-nee," Ron gasped. "I still have to breathe down here. Not so tight a hold, yeah?"

"Oh, sorry. If I let go, you don't plan on stopping, do you?" Hermione was panting; her breath coming hard and fast already.

"I guess that means you like it then."

Ron forcibly unclasped her fingers from his hair, but with the next lap of his tongue, she was clutching him again. Her legs were shaking and she was desperate to hold to something. Falling over might make him stop, and that was the very last thing in the world she wanted to happen right now.

Sliding in another finger, Ron set up a rhythm, fingers sliding in and out, tongue tormenting her to a near frenzied state. Her hands moved from his hair (for which he seemed grateful) to clasp onto his sweat-slicked shoulders. She was near the edge when he did something particularly talented with his tongue and whatever purchase she still held on reality was gone. His tongue pressed into her and she felt her body let go and begin to spasm.

"Gods, Ron—"

The words tumbled out of her mouth as she struggled to reclaim her equilibrium with her muscles still contracting around his fingers. He withdrew from her, and she opened one eye to discover that he had wiggled out of his trousers and pants and was pinning her back to the wall and lifting her up. Age had not lengthened the amount of time in which Ron Weasley could shed his clothes. In fact, Hermione thought he may have gotten faster at it with all the practice. Hermione's legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as her lips locked with his.

She could taste herself on Ron's lips, on his tongue as it plunged into her mouth and she was always amazed at how much that turned her on. Not that she could get much hotter… both figuratively and literally. Perhaps Percy should have lifted the charm somewhat before taking their wands.

"Been a long time since I fucked you against a wall, huh? And you thought we were losing our spice. Never gonna happen, love."

"You're going to throw out your back," she whispered.

"What? We used to do this all the time."

"Yes, when we were twenty!" Hermione exclaimed. And then Ron was pressing into her and nothing else seemed to matter except having him inside her, feeling his body flush against hers. Her rear bumped against the wall and Ron began pushing into her over and over, setting a pace of banging her into the wall that was sure to leave a bruise right on her bottom. At the moment, however, she didn't care.

Ron's lips attacked hers with a newfound frenzy, and when they broke apart Hermione was left gasping for air. His lips worked their way from her mouth up her jaw line and down below her ear. He buried his head in the crook of her neck and groaned. Hermione felt the muscles of his shoulders tighten beneath her hands as he lost the rhythm he'd set. Ron began pumping into her frantically as he came, moaning into her neck as he rode out his climax.

"God, Hermione. So good. So fucking good." His words became little more than jibberish after that as she stroked his hair and whispered words of love to him.

His breathing resumed a somewhat normal patter as his body slumped heavily against her pinning her back to the wall, suffocating her.

"You think you might move any time soon, Ron? You're crushing me."

"I'd sure like to, but I don't think I can move."

"What is that supposed to mean? Of course you can move. Come on, Ron, get off me."

"No, I really don't think I can. You know that thing you said about throwing out my back. I maybe should have listened to you about that."

Stifling a giggle with her hand (rather unsuccessfully), Hermione wiggled free. It was complicated. She was wedged between Ron and the wall fairly tightly and every move she made echoed as a grimace on his face. After a lot of 'I'm sorrys,' Hermione finally worked her way free.

_What to do now?_ That was the question. "So, should I Floo someone."

"And tell them what?" Ron exclaimed.

"Well, yes. This might be a bit hard to explain," Hermione conceded.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"While you're thinking on this, you think you might get me one of those biscuits you were baking. I worked up an appetite."

"Oh, well, I wasn't really baking biscuits. That was only a ploy. It just seemed so much better to have a prop rather than just to stand here in the kitchen in my underwear. Don't you think that was better?"

"I think I really wanted one of those biscuits."


End file.
